


a four-legged word

by starklystar



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Artist Steve Rogers, Dogs, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: “Tell Miss Potts your visit is on the house.”Steve blinks, pausing. “I couldn’t – ”“Well, I can. In exchange for a promise.”For the first time, Steve notices Stark. A handsome smile, a well-trimmed beard, and toned muscles that peek out from under his scrubs. Steve straightens his back, keeping a hand on Liberty’s neck to keep her from getting too agitated. He’s quite aware of what his own body looks like – after all, hedidcome here to try solve his search for a longer-term date.Still, no matter how lonely, “I don’t make those kinds of promises.”Stark’s smile drops, head tipping sideways. “What kind?”“The, uh,” Steve swallows, “the ones that involve a bed.”“Is that what you think about me?” Stark’s jaw tightens.---------------Or, Steve's dog Liberty barks at every single date that Steve brings home. In desperation, Steve takes her to New York's best vet: Doctor Tony Stark. A certain kind of chaos happens.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 421





	a four-legged word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desitonystark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desitonystark/gifts).



> title taken from the dorky play on words " _love is a four-legged word_ " because these two hopeless men are too dorky.
> 
> for adi who asked for military men having a thing for tony and tony being knocked down by a service dog. this diverged a bit from the prompt but hope you like it 💕

Steve bounces his leg, glancing around the red walls of the waiting room from his corner, every so often shushing Liberty, holding onto her to keep her from barking too loudly at the other customers.

The man sitting two seats down from Steve is carrying a tabby cat in his arms, and Liberty has been growling intermittently at them, putting her big golden retriever body between Steve and the cat. Liberty’s head reaches up to his hips when he stands – big is an understatement. Of course the cat would be afraid.

Steve sighs.

While he understands it’s part of her job description and training to be protective of Steve, he really would appreciate it if she toned down just a bit.

“Captain Rogers?”

Liberty barks, moving to yap at Miss Potts. Steve quickly clicks his tongue, motioning for Liberty to sit. Sullenly, with a heavy thump of her tail on the floor, she quiets down. Steve scratches the back of her ear consolingly.

Maybe Sam’s right. His problem might be that he’s spoiling her too much.

Regardless, Steve smiles readily at Miss Potts. “Is Doctor Stark ready?”

“Yes, if you’ll come along, I’ll show you to his office,” Miss Potts smiles back, clipboard in hand and leading them down the hallway to where the vets do their consultations. The VA and Sam had assured Steve that no matter what the reputation around the Stark family name was, Stark Paws Clinic is _the_ veterinary place to go to in New York, and Steve wants only the best after all that Liberty’s done for him.

The office door swings open, and a harried-looking vet takes the clipboard from Miss Potts. His eyes immediately land on Liberty, who is sticking close to Steve’s leg and is growling low at the man.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Stark.”

Steve honestly doesn’t know if Stark is greeting him or Liberty. “Hi,” Steve clears his throat. “I’m Steve.”

Stark steps back from the door, glancing down at the clipboard. “And this is, uh, Liberty?”

“Yeah, she’s – to put it lightly, she’s very protective.”

Right on cue, Liberty barks at Stark and Stark placatingly puts down the clipboard, closing his hand into a fist to offer it to her. She growls, tail stiff, unrelenting in her protection of Steve. Patiently, Stark kneels down, hand held out in peace until Liberty sniffs cautiously at it before barking again, less loudly this time.

Huffing, Stark stands back up. “She’s a good service dog.”

“She helps me with my – ” Steve makes a half-hearted shrug, still getting used to talking about it, “my PTSD.”

Stark hums. “Army?”

“That obvious?”

“My friend’s in the Air Force. Has his own service puppy,” Stark goes around the exam table, smiling at Liberty who tensely sits on her haunches. “Gotta admit, Butterfingers doesn’t bark as much as this girl.”

Steve nods. “Is there anything I can do? She barks at every person I bring home.”

“That’s her only issue? No lethargy, no vomiting?”

“No. Whenever I take a date – a friend home,” Steve feels his cheeks warm, and he hides it by going to scratch the back of Liberty’s ears. “She barks at them. Really aggressively. I don’t know if it’s my PTSD getting to her or not.”

“I’m not quite a dog therapist,” Stark laughs, “I tend to avoid human emotions too. But get her used to seeing strangers? Take her out with you on small dates – maybe walks in the park together with your date before you bring them home?”

“You think that’d help?”

“Dogs are smart. They learn to trust, but trust can be slow.”

“So she’s not,” Steve feels some relief lifting the weight of his worry, “she’s not going rabid?”

Stark shakes his head, rummaging through his desk for something. He comes back with a jar of dog biscuits that, again, sends Liberty growling cautiously. “No,” Stark says. “She’s perfectly healthy. Pepper did a prelim check on her heart rate and gums, yes?”

“Miss Potts did.”

“Then all that’s left is this,” Stark hands over a couple of the dog biscuits to Steve. “I don’t want to have my fingers bitten off.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t do much. Did the VA cover the cost of this trip?”

“Half,” Steve admits, feeding Liberty the treats, “don’t worry about it.”

“No. I barely did anything except being a glorified biscuit dispenser,” Stark says. “Tell Miss Potts your visit is on the house.”

Steve blinks, pausing. “I couldn’t – ”

“Well, I can. In exchange for a promise.”

For the first time, Steve notices Stark. A handsome smile, a well-trimmed beard, and toned muscles that peek out from under his scrubs. Steve straightens his back, keeping a hand on Liberty’s neck to keep her from getting too agitated. He’s quite aware of what his own body looks like – after all, he _did_ come here to try solve his search for a longer-term date.

Still, no matter how lonely, “I don’t make those kinds of promises.”

Stark’s smile drops, head tipping sideways. “What kind?”

“The, uh,” Steve swallows, “the ones that involve a bed.”

“Is that what you think about me?” Stark’s jaw tightens.

All that earlier relief escapes Steve, and he closes his eyes for a few long seconds. “No – I – I’m really bad at this,” he lets out a breath. _God_. Get a grip. “I don’t do well with charity. I’m sorry.”

There’s a clatter as Stark takes the clipboard from the desk to sign on it. Then, “come back if Liberty keeps giving you trouble,” Stark unclips the form and offers it to Steve. “That’s all I need you to promise.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, feeling utterly berated and foolish.

“Here’s hoping you score a better date, Captain,” Stark gives him a tight smile.

Liberty barks.

* * *

The thing is: there are only four people Liberty doesn’t bark at.

Steve is clearly one of them. Sam was the one to suggest a service dog through the VA’s support system, Natasha had picked Liberty out with him, and Bucky had given her the name. Maddeningly enough, for all that Liberty barks at everyone, she curls up peacefully around Bucky’s cat Alpine.

Letting Liberty in the door, Steve hangs his coat on the hook and sighs. Doctor Stark’s advice had been sound enough, but tonight’s date had gone to bust the moment Liberty nearly bit off Sharon’s hand.

Steve had just wanted to give Sharon some ice cream in the park.

“I don’t do well with dogs,” Sharon had said apologetically.

To be entirely fair with Liberty, many of Steve’s dates _had_ turned out to be bad eggs. Rumlow had been a cheating ass, and Liberty had scratched Rumlow so badly that stitches were needed. The same thing had happened to Rollins who Steve had nearly punched in the face for what the man was doing behind Steve’s back.

Liberty had made sure none of them returned.

Sighing, Steve ruffles Liberty’s fur, laughing a bit when she licks his hand, tail wagging happily as she drops down, putting all her weight on top of Steve’s feet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve ends up sitting on the floor beside her. His phone rings, making Liberty yap. Steve pats her as he swipes his screen to answer, “hey Nat, sorry for the bust.”

“How’s Libby doing?”

“She’s calm now that Sharon’s gone.”

Liberty barks pointedly at Sharon’s name.

He can practically hear Natasha rolling her eyes. “Let me try setting you up in a dog park next, Steve. Give Libby her own chance to work out some frustrations.”

Steve chokes, which causes Liberty to jump on his chest. “Ugh, down girl.” Liberty keeps her new spot on his chest, dripping dog slobber over his shirt. Shame. The white shirt was one Steve liked. “Nat,” Steve says into his phone, “I don’t think I have time to handle pups if you’re talking about what I’m thinking.”

“You need to get laid, Steve. If that means Libby gets laid too…” Nat trails off.

“No.”

“What about Doctor Stark? Sam said you met the vet?”

Trying futilely to push Liberty off his chest, Steve manages to at least sit back up. “Yeah, he said to maybe bring Libby on the dates to slowly get her used to it, but evidently, she’s not getting on the agenda.”

“Was Doctor Stark handsome?”

“ _Nat_.”

“What? I’ve seen his picture, and you’re not blind. I could get his number for you.”

“Good night, Nat.”

The chuckle that comes from the other end of the call doesn’t quite bode well. “That wasn’t a ‘no’, Captain,” Natasha teases. “And he’s also rich.”

“I don’t need the money.”

“I don’t need you moping around alone, either, Rogers.”

Steve chuckles. “I don’t mope.”

He bears Natasha’s prodding for a little longer before he pours food for Liberty and heads to the showers to wash off his ache for the night. It’s not quite disappointment that the date didn’t work out – more of an exhaustion. How much longer does he have to try to find someone who thinks he’s worth it? Someone who won’t run when he mentions why he needs Liberty?

His friends mean well by setting him up with a rotation of people. Hell, Steve had even asked for it when he realised how much he missed meeting new people. With their own busy lives – Bucky’s bookshop, Natasha’s gym and Sam’s work at the VA – he can’t expect his friends to keep him company every day. But meeting new people doesn’t seem to be working because none of the dates so far seemed interested in coming back a second time.

Does that speak about his own character, or about Liberty?

He stares into his cold bedroom and throws on one of his thicker shirts to stave off the cold weather. When he walks toward the small studio he set up, Liberty’s already there waiting by the stool in front of his easel, tail thumping softly on the floor.

“Just you and me,” Steve ruffles her fur, her warmth around his legs a familiar grounding point. The barely started drawing of the Brooklyn Bridge stares judgingly back at him. Two more weeks until the commission is due, and he hasn’t even finished outlining everything.

All he can think of are the sand dunes of the desert, the clear starry skies at night and the – the distant wisp of smoke, of red hot fire exploding as a bomb –

Liberty barks.

Steve exhales sharply.

“Thank you,” he tells her. Then, to himself, “I can’t draw tonight.”

He fishes his phone out again, searching for the Marvin Gaye soundtrack Sam had recommended. There's news about the next Yankees game. His eye snags on the article beneath it, and he clicks on the headline, grateful for the distraction. The latest development in the Stark inheritance case. Stane was contesting large sum of money Maria Stark left for her son Tony, who –

Ah. That’s why Sam had warned Steve about the ‘family name’.

And why Stark had taken so much offense at Steve’s words.

Exhaustion mixes with guilt. He shouldn’t have been so ignorant, nor should he be so curious now. Howard and Maria Stark had been rich beyond rich. A weapons manufacturer, with a world-class vet as a son? Steve rolls the question around in his head until he decides enough is enough.

“Come on, girl,” Steve mutters at Liberty, shoving his phone deep down in his pocket.

He walks over to the punching bag by the dining table, Liberty following along. There’s no drawing tonight, and if there’s no drawing, then he's sure he won't be able to get any sleep either.

* * *

October flips onto November. While Steve’s gotten a new commission to keep himself going, the new month also means a new date set up for him by his ever-wonderful friends. He had given them a deadline of December. No more setting him up with a gal from accounting or a guy from admin after that. For all that he wants to settle down, for all that he might be lonely, Liberty gives him enough company and enough reason to get up each morning. 

Tonight, Steve puts on a warm sweater and attaches Liberty's pack on her back. 

Carmine’s is a fancier place than Steve would usually be comfortable with, but Natasha’s friend had gotten them a table and they have a special service for dogs so Steve can slowly introduce the date to Liberty after dinner. Liberty paws at Steve’s legs when he leaves her with the clerk at the front desk, making Steve feel a twist of guilt for leaving her out front.

Waiting at the table is the neighbour two doors down from Bucky. Kate is funny. Smart. NYU’s doctoral candidate working on infectious diseases. Part of Steve understands why Bucky thought Kate might be the one – witty brunettes were Steve’s type – but most of what she says flies over the top of Steve’s head and while Steve enjoys listening to it, he suspects they have different priorities. The Italian entrées were excellent to smooth over any awkwardness, though, and he manages to get through to dessert without turning the occasion into too much of a trainwreck.

Still, when Steve pays the bill and takes Liberty back from the clerk, Kate jumps back as Liberty rebelliously barks loudly, pulling at the leash.

Kate eyes the pack strapped on Liberty’s back, with the VA logo declaring her a service dog. “Oh,” Kate mumbles, “Liberty seems… sweet.”

Liberty growls, the leash pulled tight. Steve shushes her to no avail. “Sorry,” he tells Kate. “Libby doesn’t do well with strangers.”

“Ah,” Kate nods almost exaggeratedly. “I should, uh, I should go.” She clutches her purse tightly. “It was nice meeting you, Steve. Really. I had a good time.”

Steve has been through this enough times to understand the too-gentle tone of her voice. He nods. “Let me get you a cab.”

He can only be grateful that a vacant cab rolls over a handful of seconds later, Kate giving Steve one last pleasant smile as she gets in.

His home is too far to walk back to, and Steve watches the cars pass by the curb for another moment before turning to Liberty with his own tired smile. Her nose nudges Steve’s hip.

“So, are we waiting for a cab, or taking the train?” he asks her.

“On your left.”

Steve jerks, glancing up to see – oh. “Doctor Stark,” he greets tightly, looking more at Liberty and the man’s expensive shoes than at his eyes. He hopes Liberty’s done acting up for the night, because he would hate having to replace that much premium leather.

Stark has his hands shoved in his pocket, the edges of his black gloves peeking out slightly, standing close but far away enough to keep Liberty’s barking from getting more agitated. “Call me Tony. I’m off the clock.”

“Tony,” Steve lets out a tense breath, doing his best to not think about his ruined date. “I really _am_ sorry for what I said at your office, I – ”

Tony holds up a hand. “No harm, no foul.” Then, a smile that’s amused but isn’t cruel. “Did Liberty scare off the lucky lady of the night?”

“I thought Libby only didn’t like the men I brought home. Turns out she has something about the ladies too.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling Tony – maybe this most recent failure hit harder than he thought. Steve only knows that he expects Tony to react somehow. A soldier swinging both ways isn’t the most common thing. Stack it up with PTSD and a very protective service dog – the odds aren’t really in Steve’s favor.

But Tony just looks out on the busy street that’s decidedly absent of any cabs, and notes, “she picks up on your nervousness around your dates.”

Huh. Carefully, Steve takes a glance at Tony’s profile, scanning up from the leather shoes to the thick burgundy red coat that frames him perfectly. A man comfortable in his own skin.

Steve huffs, his breath forming a mist in the late autumn chill. “What do you think I should I do?”

“What you just did,” Tony meets Steve’s eyes. “Breathe. You’re going on a date, not getting a dressing down from your C.O.”

“Easier said than done.”

Tony laughs almost ruefully, ducking his head. “I’m not your therapist, but there’s not much going against your Tinder profile.” A shrug. “Sam told me about you: Medal of Honor recipient moonlighting as a freelance artist, respectable brownstone in Brooklyn, and I’m guessing a fit body beneath all those sweaters.”

 _No_ , Steve thinks, _not much going against me except myself._ “I don’t do Tinder.”

“Well, I do,” Tony’s smile turns into a friendly smirk. “Gotta check out my competition.”

“Why did you become a vet?” Steve finds himself blurting out before he can stop it, then he winces and tries to walk it back. “No offense – I just – you’re a Stark.”

Tony scoffs, clearly torn by amusement and surprise. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“I prefer to barge through. That’s a hard swipe left for most,” Steve bites his lips, uncertain. One small mercy is that Liberty seems content with only occasionally growling at Tony, too busy barking at the other passerbys to pay much attention.

“You’ll work on it,” Tony has the grace to say.

Steve decides to ask something less loaded. “Did you just have a date?” _Oh God_. He closes his eyes, cheeks grower even warmer with embarrassment. Has he always been this rusty at talking with new people?

“Subtle,” Tony shakes his head in disbelief. “But no. Believe it or not, I don’t do dates well – I just enjoy the food here.”

“You don’t seem nervous.”

“I’m married to my work, and the press comes after me when they're bored. Not the best Tinder profile.”

The lawsuit with Stane. Steve taps his foot uneasily. “I see.”

Tony chuckles. “You can ask, you know. I won’t be offended.”

“I won’t ask,” Steve tells him firmly. “Are you waiting for a cab?”

“Sam told me you’re a good man.”

“Sam’s too good to me.”

As if in protest at that, Liberty barks. To his credit, Tony doesn’t step away, standing his ground. He must be used to this as a vet.

“It’s all public knowledge,” Tony starts, “my mother loved animals and she gave me what I needed to finish vet school, to build my clinics. Stane kept my father’s company.”

“And Stark Industries hasn’t gone anywhere under Stane,” Steve draws his own conclusions.

Tony smiles. “Yes. You’re quick.”

“Strategy was what got me that Medal. Stane wouldn’t be suing you without strategy.”

“Regardless, we just won the case – I’m keeping the clinic and her trust fund.”

Steve nods. “You’re a good man, too.”

“I’m sure Liberty disagrees,” Tony turns his smile on Liberty, who seems to have tired of barking and has resorted to growling low. He rummages his coat pocket for something, coming up with – is it in the vet’s job description to carry dog treats everywhere?

“There’s no need,” Steve tries to say, but Tony presses the packet of treats into Steve’s gloved hands, just as a cab rolls up on the curb.

“The treats will distract her on your way home, stop her from getting too anxious in the cab.”

“You can take the cab first – ”

“Go home, Steve,” Tony opens the cab door pointedly. “Not good manners to let your girl out in the cold so long.” On cue, Liberty barks yet again.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Steve relents, patting Liberty’s head and following her lead into the cab.

“Tell me when you finally score first base,” Tony grins, shutting the door before Steve can indignantly reply. Liberty climbs onto Steve’s lap, her warm body a comfort after the chill outside he hadn’t noticed.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asks, jolting Steve.

Steve turns back to watch Tony cross the street, disappearing into the crowd. He coughs to clear his throat – to clear his mind.

“Brooklyn,” Steve answers.

* * *

They walk past a couple of carollers as they cross the street to Prospect Park’s Dog Beach. Sam leads them, talking about how maybe what Steve needed wasn’t a set up date. This final straw was supposed to be a spontaneous thing at a dog park – Sam hoping that Steve would spark a miraculous flame with fellow dog lovers.

Steve wishes they didn’t have to do it right in the middle of December, with the sloshy thin sheet of snow making the weather miserable despite the bright lights and cheerful carols. But Sam had been so excited about the idea, Steve didn’t have the heart to turn him down so near to Christmas.

“How’s the art going?” Sam says as he pays for two warm cups of coffee at the food truck.

Balancing the cup cautiously with the leash wrapped in his other hand, Steve sips the drink happily. “Good. There’s a gallery showing soon, and my art’s going to be featured.”

“You deserve it,” Sam gives Liberty a fond pat, eyeing the rest of the dogwalkers in the park. He nods his chin to a particularly burly man with a chihuahua. “What about him?”

“I already don’t get enough sleep. You think a chihuahua would help?” Steve drily asks.

Sam makes a thoughtful noise. “It doesn’t have to be a long term thing.”

“I’m not looking for a one night stand.”

“Shame,” Sam winks. “You still using your punching bag?”

“Sometimes. Other times I go to Nat’s gym.”

“As long as you’re not doing calisthenics. You make enough men jealous.”

The unspoken message is clear. Sam’s way of gently telling him to not push his body too far, to take better care of it. A few years back, he might’ve gotten sullen over the reminder. Today, he’s getting better at letting others care for him, especially with Liberty making him used to having a constant friend looking out for all his tells. Steve lets himself quirk a smile.

“We could go back to having morning runs together,” he suggests.

Sam takes a long sip of his coffee. “Nuh uh. I’m not running with you. I need my lungs.”

“Then – ”

Liberty’s leash gets pulled taut, her tail stiff in the air. Steve glances around, spotting a large German Shepperd that’s growling at her. The owner, a tall blond man, seems to not care, leering at Steve.

“Come on, Libby,” Steve tries to coax her away from the dog. Liberty barks in protest. The Shepperd stalks over, and oh, the dog isn’t leashed.

The coffee sloshes in the cup as Steve bends down to get Liberty’s attention, and it spills over his hand onto the gravel. Somehow, that makes the Shepperd only angrier, and it leaps towards them, Sam’s warning shout the only thing he gets before –

Liberty makes her own leap, yanking free from her leash –

“Get your dog off her!” Steve yells at the owner, dropping his cup to try reclaim the end of Liberty’s leash.

“I’m Hodge,” the owner walks over unhurried, and Sam curses.

Liberty makes a whimper, and _no_ , that’s blood. The Shepperd, too, makes a low growl as Liberty lashes back out. There’s never been a time when Liberty’s been this fierce. Steve doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“He’s a bully,” Sam hisses beside Steve, “he doesn’t care about Libby.”

“Liberty!” Steve shouts, desperate for her not to get hurt.

Sam shakes his head. “I’ll grab the Shepperd’s back legs, you do the same for Libby.”

They must’ve broken up fights like this while training service dogs, and Steve trusts Sam. He moves to hold onto Liberty, sighing loudly in relief as he stumbles back, Liberty landing securely in his arms. He moves to quickly check her for wounds, heart stuttering when he finds her chest torn by the Shepperd’s claws.

Dimly, he hears Sam dressing down the man – Hodge – in no uncertain terms.

“We’re getting you to the vet,” Steve promises Liberty, “don’t scare me like that.”

Her tail wags weakly.

“I mean it,” he says more sternly.

She licks Steve's shoulder.

* * *

Steve does his best not to tap his fingers nervously on metal table. Between Steve and Tony, they’ve hauled Liberty on top of the table for Tony to check on her.

It’s late for an appointment at the clinic, but Sam had called and Tony had been in the office. _Married to my work_ , Tony had said. Liberty’s too worn out to bark at anyone, and Steve watches tensely as Tony puts his hand over her chest, expertly stitching the deep cut.

There’s an unguardedness to Tony’s face that takes Steve by surprise – the way Tony murmurs softly to Liberty that helps calm Steve’s nervousness too. “Beautiful,” Tony says, snapping off his medical gloves to give Liberty a final pat.

“She’ll be alright?” Steve immediately comes closer, letting her nudge her nose into his palm.

“Nothing serious,” Tony assures. “But some dirt got into the cut. She’s running a bit of a fever.”

“Is there medicine for that?”

Tony walks to his desk, flipping through some papers. “Normally, I’d ask to keep her for overnight observation. I don’t want to take her away from you, though.”

“Whatever she needs,” Steve swallows. He won’t be happy without her, but he’ll survive if it means she’ll get better.

“It’s not just for you – it’s for her too. She’ll get anxious without you,” Tony hands Steve a prescription of pills. “Give her this twice a day. I’ll drop by your house tonight to rig her to an IV.”

Steve takes it, absently scratching Liberty’s ear. “You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Rhodey would never let Butterfingers spend a day away from him. Just give me your address.”

“Why are you doing this?” Steve has to ask.

“Didn’t I tell you? My dad was a weapons contractor,” Tony shrugs glibly, coming back to Liberty with a new packet of dog treats. “Becoming a vet pissed him off.”

“I don’t think you did all this to be vindictive.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I read up on you,” Steve admits sheepishly. “You design crutches for elephants, first aid kits to save gunned down wildlife.”

Tony whistles, low. “Didn’t know you were a stalker.”

“Been here three times now. Couldn’t help but be curious.”

“Because of people like you,” Tony fiddles with his pen, uncapping it and capping it again. “I know what Butterfingers did for Rhodey – my friend – after coming back from his tours abroad. These dogs, these pets, they can’t speak for themselves, but they care.”

That’s… that’s unexpectedly sincere, and it hits too close to home that Steve finds his throat dry. “They know love,” he rasps out.

Tony’s hand stills around the pen. “It sucks when people don’t understand you.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, not daring to look too long at Tony. He wraps his arms around Liberty instead, lifting her off the table to buy some time. As tall as Liberty is, her large body gives Steve an excuse to hide his face until he trusts himself to say evenly, “thank you for this, Doctor Stark.”

Tony puts down his pen. “It’s my pleasure, Captain.”

* * *

He texts Sam a ‘ _thank you_ ’ and calls Natasha as soon as he gets home. Liberty – more energised now that she’s home – follows Steve upstairs to the bedroom. Throwing open his closet, he paces in front of it until Nat answers, smiling a little when Sam replies with confirmation that the asshole Hodge won’t be frequenting any dog parks soon.

“Sam told me,” Nat answers the call, “are you alright?”

“We’re fine. Tony – Doctor Stark is going to come over to make sure Libby’s alright.”

“It’s Tony now, is it?”

Maybe Steve should’ve called Bucky instead. Or not. Bucky would only tease without giving any insight. Steve sighs. He doesn’t know whether he should feel guilty that he’s concerned over what to wear when Liberty’s just been attacked. But Liberty is doing much better than she had been five hours ago, and he’s not sure how quickly he can get the apartment cleaned before Tony comes over.

The least he can do is to clean up how he looks.

“What should I wear?” Steve asks into the phone. Better to ask head on than draw this out.

Natasha must pick up on his short temper because her tone turns more sober. “One of those white shirts that’s definitely two sizes too small. Simple, neat, flattering, but not too suggestive.”

His eyes land on the shirt she means, and he looks at the sweater he’s wearing right now. Yeah, okay. She has a point. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Hey,” she says, “are you sure you’re alright?”

“Just worried for Libby,” Steve sits on the bed. Liberty curls around his feet, the stitches a long line across her chest. She’s a strong girl, stronger than Steve. “I need to know, though: did Sam introduce me to Tony to set us up?”

“Tony _is_ the best vet,” Natasha digresses.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“For what it’s worth,” her fondness is clear in her words, “Tony’s an old friend. He’s almost as hopeless as you but he deserves someone good. We didn’t plan on you bumping into you this often – we wanted to invite him over for Christmas dinner.”

“He told me,” Steve ruffles Liberty’s fur to give his hands something to do. “Not the Christmas dinner part. The part where he doesn’t date.”

“Wear the white shirt,” Natasha says again. “Don’t mess up. Don’t serve him leaf juice.”

“Leaf – ” The doorbell rings. _Shit._ “Sorry, Nat, gotta go.”

“If you don’t kiss him, I’ll know!”

“Bye, Nat.”

He tosses the phone on the bed, moving in such a hurry that Liberty gives him a questioning bark. He assures her with another pat, switching his sweater quickly for the white shirt. The doorbell rings again, in time for him to run downstairs, clicking his tongue to get Liberty to follow.

He can only hope that Liberty doesn’t scare Tony off. Sure, Tony is a vet, but Steve doubts it’s pleasant to spend your whole day being angrily barked at.

Taking a deep breath, he runs his hand roughly through his hair. _Don’t mess up_.

He unlocks the door.

“Hi – ”

A gold blur rushes past him, the sound of a loud thump, plastic clattering on the ceramic tiles, and –

 _Liberty_.

No.

“Tony!” Steve reaches out to grab onto Liberty’s collar. “Libby, _down_. Now!” he snaps, but Liberty ignores him, paws scratching Tony’s chest and _oh God_ , not again in the same day – does Steve need to call an ambulance –

Liberty licks Tony’s face.

Tony scrunches his nose, eyes closed. “Ugh,” he mutters, hands moving to pat Liberty’s head, knocking onto Steve’s hand on her collar. Steve freezes. He watches tensely as Tony peeks open an eye, waiting for the curses and the anger to come spitting out of Tony, and he’s –

Tony is smiling.

No, he’s _laughing_.

“Seems I won her over,” Tony grins wide, then, “hey, hey come on, big lady, let me up,” he gently shoves Liberty off his chest to sit up by the doorway, and Steve darts forward to close the door, stopping any more chill from coming in.

“Seems you managed to,” Steve slides down the door, ending up seated right next to Tony. Liberty happily climbs into his lap, her tail wagging in Tony’s face.

Collecting the medkit he dropped, Tony checks on some bottles before fishing out a piece of cloth to wipe the slobber off his face. “Didn’t expect such a friendly reception.”

Steve leans back, head thunking against the front door, feeling the tension and the fear of the day leave him in a rush. He’s lightheaded, dizzy from the sudden burst of adrenaline.

He finds himself laughing for no reason, silently at first, and then louder.

Liberty _likes_ Tony. By whatever magic or fate or coincidence, Liberty trusts Tony.

Steve can think of no better seal of approval than that.

Beside him, Tony has already taken advantage of Liberty’s newfound trust, handfeeding her some more dog treats.

They eventually manage to get themselves out of their pile on the floor, Steve taking Tony’s coat to hang as Tony unpacks his kit.

“A portable IV delivery system,” Tony declares when he finishes sticking the needle into Liberty’s front let and strapping the small IV bag onto her back. “I designed it a few years back for some polar bears, modified it for at home use. She should be able to move around just fine.”

“Polar bears? You’ve been to the Arctic?”

“Yes, but I don’t make it a habit to walk up to wild ones.”

“Ah,” Steve turns to Liberty lying on top of a nest of old blankets. He feels awkward, now that the main business is over. “Do you want to wash up?” Dog slobber isn’t the most pleasant thing to have on your face after a while, and it’ll give Steve some time to think of what to say.

Tony nods. Leaving the ground floor living room, he leads him upstairs to the guest rooms, not missing the way Tony curiously eyes the punching bag over the dining table or the old buckets of paint lining the far corner.

Once sure that Tony is in the bathroom, Steve goes back down to slowly bring Liberty up to his own room, where her bed is wedged right next to Steve’s bed. By the time he finishes tucking her in, he hears the shower stop. He moves to sit at the dining table. One more thing: he boils the kettle to make some black coffee for Tony, tea for himself. _Leaf juice_ , Steve chuckles.

A few minutes later, Tony walks out, wearing the same red shirt he had come with, hair floppy and wet. The dampness of it must’ve dripped down on Tony’s shirt, though, because wet spots on the shirt cling revealingly tight across Tony’s chest – hints of his collarbone peeking through.

Steve coughs. “I, um, I put Libby to bed, if that’s alright?”

“The IV is portable,” Tony repeats, “you can move her wherever as long as you don’t jostle the needle too much.”

“She’s in there,” Steve points at his closed bedroom door.

Tony laughs, walking slowly to the table. “Does that mean we have the house to ourselves?”

“Sort of.”

Did he accidentally turn on the heating too high? It’s December. Why is it so hot?

“So you really _are_ a painter,” Tony observes, “and you _are_ hiding some muscle under your sweaters.” He pulls out the chair across the table from Steve, frowning at the dust on it but sitting anyway. “Don’t worry too much about Liberty – Libby? – she just needs two days on the IV.”

“I’m glad she didn’t attack you. For a second I thought she mauled you over.”

“Used to it,” Tony waves off. “And I understand her. Trust can be slow.”

Steve grimaces. His misplaced questions, how he had offended Tony. _Don’t mess up_ , Natasha’s warning plays on repeat in his head.

“I hope friendship won’t be as slow,” he tries.

“I still don’t make those kinds of promises,” Tony says, fingers drumming on the table’s wood. “It would be entirely unprofessional and Pepper would have my head.” At Steve’s questioning look, Tony adds, “Miss Potts. You’ve met her. Her heels are very sharp and scary.”

Steve snorts, amused. Then, he remembers the very frightening fact that he finally _has_ brought someone home. Someone he likes, not just someone his friend hope he'll like.

“Liberty trusts you,” he blurts out, having nothing else to say, the fear mingling back with his earlier relief and wonder. “I don’t know how you got her to stop barking, but you did.”

“She _is_ a smart girl,” Tony points out. “She knows who’ll give her dog biscuits.”

That’s not it. _She picks up on your nervousness_ , Tony had told him –

Ah.

It’s not that Liberty trusts Tony. It’s that Steve trusts Tony, so by extension, Liberty does too.

This is –

Steve can’t figure out if this is good or bad.

 _Don’t mess up_.

He realises it doesn’t quite matter. He’s waited too long to get over himself, waited for his friends to shove date after date in front of him. It isn’t fair to them or to himself.

Tony is smiling, and Steve thinks of what they’d talked about earlier at the clinic – why Tony had chosen to be a vet. Steve wonders if he’ll forgive himself for letting Tony slip away, for letting Tony be only another name in a long list of people who could’ve been, and finds that he doesn’t want to have to know.

He’s faced explosions in the deserts. He’s survived through the heat and the cold and the blood. Talking to a kind-hearted vet should be easy.

“What if,” Steve clears his throat, leg bouncing beneath the table to let off some anxiousness, “stop me if I’m wrong, but what if the promise didn’t involve a bed? What if it’s just a dinner?”

The drumming of Tony’s fingers on the table stops, leaving a strangely empty silence. His smile turns less wide. “Dinner, huh?”

Steve tries to forge on. “A little bird told me you like Carmine’s?”

Tony scoffs, but there’s a brightness to his eyes that settles Steve’s worry. “I am in no way little,” Tony firmly says.

“I should hope so,” Steve laughs despite himself.

Tony kicks him under the table, grinning back. “How about tonight? Here?” Tony counters. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten since Libby was attacked. We can order a pizza?”

Steve blinks. “Do you always move this fast?”

“When it gets me free food while I’m hungry, yes.”

“I’m glad our relationship goes as deep as free food.”

Tony shrugs and takes a long gulp of his coffee. “Well? Do you want pizza?”

“Yes,” Steve has to relent.

“Then it’s settled.”

* * *

Over dinner, Steve tells Tony about his gallery showing and baseball while Tony spouts out about a hundred tiny details on the golden retriever species. Most of what he says flies over the top of Steve’s head, but the excitement in Tony’s voice makes Steve want to know more.

Hearing the noise, Liberty slowly makes her way out of the bedroom to the table, settling herself between their legs.

Tony slips her a few pepperonis.

At some point, Steve feels brave enough to talk about the explosion that took out Bucky’s arm, that still rings in Steve’s ears some nights. He searches for any sign of pity. Tony offers none, asking only whether Steve would like to go on with the story or to be distracted by trivia about camel evolution. The unflinching acceptance is a soothing balm that rolls the ball further. He promises to show Tony a painting, and Tony prods until Steve agrees to paint one of him.

“I’ll take you up on a commission,” Tony promises.

Steve doesn’t have to think about it – he tells Tony he’d do it for free. _Art speaks for itself_ , Steve feels the words stick to his throat. They go unsaid.

He spends the rest of dinner wistful, the undercurrent of them dancing around each other less maddening than it should’ve been. If all this ends in dinner and them being friends, Steve will be… not pleased, no. He’ll be satisfied.

 _He’s the one_ , Steve thinks as Liberty rests her head on Tony’s thigh. The question is, of course, whether the reverse was true.

Few people were fortunate enough to count someone as brilliant and kind as Tony a friend, and compared to Tony’s wealth, Steve has nothing except his nightmares and a dog too protective for her own good. He doesn’t want to miss his chance by waiting too long. He also doesn’t want to lose his chance by being too presumptuous.

This was a balancing act.

“You can stay the night,” Steve offers when he realises their dinner’s stretched far beyond eleven o’clock. It’s snowing outside, nearly midnight. “The guest room’s free for you to use.”

“Oh? Are you going to use it with me?” Tony raises a brow.

“Not tonight, and definitely not if you don’t want to.”

Tony squints at him. “Is this your way of letting me down easily, or is this what Tasha meant when she said you’re too polite?”

Resisting the urge to groan, Steve focuses on clearing the pizza boxes from the table. “I don’t want to push you.”

“Option B, then. You’re too polite,” Tony takes the pile of pizza boxes from Steve and puts them back on the table. “Listen. I’ve been talking about camels when all I want it to talk about is what you’ve got going under that shirt – ”

“I thought you don’t date.”

“I don’t,” Tony throws his hands in the air. “Because they’re either sharks looking for a scandal or they’re looking for money. You turned down my money, and you’ve had every chance to go to the press after I told you about my mother.”

“Why would I go to the press about that?”

“Now, either you’re playing the long game strategy, or you really care – ”

“Of course I care!”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Tony emphasizes. “I don’t date, but I’d be willing to make an exception. I mean – Liberty already made an exception for me. I figure it’s fair to return the favor.” Traitorously, Liberty moves to stand right next to Tony, her injured chest all but forgotten as she silently asks for a pat that Tony gives her.

“So you want to stay the night?” Steve says.

“No, I – ” Tony pauses. “I actually _do_ have an early appointment in the morning, but – let’s do this again. Sometime.”

 _He’s almost as hopeless as you_ , Nat had warned. _Don’t mess up_. Steve steps closer. Tony’s eyes flick up and down, uncertain.

“Sometime soon, I hope,” Steve whispers into the small space between them, a secret confession. “We can have fondue next time, cheese and Italian.”

“That,” Tony laughs, light, “is a very bad way of flirting.”

“Is it working?”

A pause. “Maybe.”

“Then it’s settled,” Steve smirks. “I’m taking you out again.”

Tony makes a frustrated sound, and –

Coffee, bitter and warm. Tony’s lips press hard against him, pushing, and pushing Steve until Steve’s back hits the edge of the table and Liberty barks. Tony makes no pause, tongue swiping between Steve’s lips, hot and desperate and –

“Then it’s settled,” Tony has the gall to say, only the slightest bit breathless. “Next time, I’m staying the night – hopefully not in the guest room.”

“I thought you don't make those kinds of promises?”

“I _do_ make those kinds of wishes.”

“Oh?”

“Besides,” Tony winks, hand patting Steve's arm, “a room has _far_ more possibilities than a bed.”

With that, Tony pulls away, striding off to pick up his medical kit and his coat, Steve dazedly following him out to the front door, into the dark winter night. Liberty sticks close, whining when Tony pats her goodbye.

He watches Tony fiddle with his car keys under the street lamp, his heart beating too fast.

He should say something – anything, to get Tony to stay even a minute longer, because Steve reckons he could talk with Tony until the sun rose and set and rose again. He _knows_ he could admire forever the way Tony’s cheeks crinkled when he laughed, or the way Tony would scrunch up his nose when Steve mentions pineapple on pizza.

There’s snow falling lightly, crowning Tony’s head in a soft halo of white.

Steve thinks of the painting he has to do for his gallery showing, of the painting he promised Tony. His heart calms, slowing down as excitement settles into a resolve, deeper and more final.

 _He’s the one_ , Steve thinks again.

Tony opens the door, and the right words finally come to him.

“Hey Tony?” he calls out.

“What?”

“Just wanted to tell you: I finally got to first base.”

Tony blankly stares back, clearly trying to remember something. Then –

He laughs, loud and long and bright.

Liberty barks at him.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @starklysteve :)


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